Car poems
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Nox 1
© Victor Marie Hugo
At the bottom of your thoughts, this is the night you've chosen,
Prince, you must now make an end of things - the night is frozen
Heroes
© Emma Lazarus
In rich Virginian woods,
The scarlet creeper reddens over graves,
Among the solemn trees enlooped with vines;
Heroic spirits haunt the solitudes,-
The noble souls of half a million braves,
Amid the murmurous pines.
Chicago Castanets
© George Ade
Through all the moving thoroughfares
And in the contending marts of trade;
White CanoeA Legend Of Niagara Falls
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
A CANTATA.
MINAHITA, Indian Maiden.
OREIKA, Her Friend.
TOLONGA, Minahitas Father.
DOLBREKA, Indian Chief.
A Water-Color
© James Whitcomb Riley
Low hidden in among the forest trees
An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep
In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these
A fluffy water-spaniel, half asleep
Beside a sketch-book and a fallen hat--
A little wicker flask tossed into that.
His Boat
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
This boat you see, friends, will tell you
that she was the fastest of craft,
The Grandmother
© Alfred Tennyson
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.
Time's Garden
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow
In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be--
Branding The Foals
© Padraic Colum
WHY do I look for fire to brand these foals?
What do I need, when all within is fire?
Oliver Basselin. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the Valley of the Vire
Still is seen an ancient mill,
Fort Wagner
© William Gilmore Simms
I.Glory unto the gallant boys who stood
At Wagner, and, unflinching, sought the van;
An Autumn Treasure-Trove
© Eugene Field
'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame
Hangs on the maple bough;
And June is the faded flower of a name;
The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be
The gold afloat in my willow-tree.
Christmas Carol
© Sara Teasdale
The kings they came from out the south,
All dressed in ermine fine;
They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
And gifts of precious wine.
Doctor Hilaire
© William Henry Drummond
A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,
"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, hes never no use at all,"
But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,
An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.
Jeanne-Marie's Hands
© Arthur Rimbaud
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer,
pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of Donna Juana?
Did they get their dusky cream colour
sailing on pools of sensual pleasure?
The Wanderer From The Fold
© Emily Jane Brontë
How few, of all the hearts that loved,
Are grieving for thee now;
And why should mine to-night be moved
With such a sense of woe?
At The Pantomime
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE house was crammed from roof to floor,
Heads piled on heads at every door;
Peripeteia
© Anthony Evan Hecht
Of course, the familiar rustling of programs,
My hair mussed from behind by a grand gesture
